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Female, a Degrading Word?

August 11, 2011

Are you fucking kidding me? If anyone needs proof that the website Feministe is not feminist, not now, not never, and a long way from becoming so, one just has to look at this entry? How in the hell is being called a female degrading?

I am FEMALE! I don’t give a fuck who “originated” the word, the word is here. To hate the word is to hate females.

What does a female want to be called? A Male?

Oh, I suppose a human? Well, we (females) bloody well fucking know already that we are humans. We don’t need to be called human to know that we are humans. The misogynists of the world don’t acknowledge our humanity. Not us. We know our humanity.

There is no way in hell I will continue to give males POWER (specifically power to make me feel degraded) by owning that the word female is degrading. No, it is not. Female means I am not male. I am not male. Males are not females. Males cannot become females.

I am floored, just floored at how stupid so-called enlightened people are. Female, degrading? Really? Really?

Now, the word woman is a whole ‘notha story. Woman implies an existence that males embrace and dictate with rules and expectations of femininity.

After all, a bitch is a female dog, not a woman dog. And we all know that males love to call females he cannot control a BITCH, A FUCKING BITCH. LMAO!

“If you are telling trans women they can’t be women, you’re telling every woman on the planet she can’t be whatever she wants. That doesn’t sound very feminist to me. It sounds more like something a pipe smoking white guy from the 50s would say to his daughter who wants to be an astronaut. Gross. Also, you’re basically declaring yourself the authority on other peoples’ identities.”

I laughed, but I think I was laughing in horror. Gross! Daddy, those mean ladies told me I couldn’t be a unicorn!!!

Don’t you just love the giant (and I may add, deceptive) leap he took when he said, “If you are telling trans women they can’t be women, you’re telling every woman on the planet she can’t be whatever she wants.” He automatically takes the position as woman and deny that real women are in fact the very people who know real women. If he is going to label whatever he wants whatever he wants then why does he give a fuck what real women think of him? Fucking idiot. Typical male wanting what he wants when he wants it. How dare women not play along with his delusional game.

“If he is going to label whatever he wants whatever he wants then why does he give a fuck what real women think of him?”

Well, he really wants everyone to really really believe he’s a unicorn. But sometimes reality is so authoritarian about these “identities” of ours.

“How dare women not play along with his delusional game.”

Oh yes.

I also liked the bizarre, white, and out of date example of female oppression.
“It sounds more like something a pipe smoking white guy from the 50s would say to his daughter who wants to be an astronaut.”

And then there’s always this:
“you’re telling every woman on the planet she can’t be whatever she wants”
Beyond the fact that there’s NO relationship between that and the first part of the sentence–
Every person on the planet ALREADY cannot be whatever what they want. Every woman on the planet, especially. If people get that upset about someone telling them the truth…

Great catch. Not telling him he is a woman (which in his mind is just a small step from declaring he is a female) is the same as all the systems of oppression since the history of time denying females the lives that have been opened to men. Not only is he delusional, I suspect, he has issues with grandness. LOL!

I wasn’t even just thinking of oppression-based “can’ts” but also regular old “can’ts.” As in gee, I’d really love to be a talented mathematician. Nevertheless, for reasons I cannot change, I am always going to be bad at math. Always. Now, is this me being terribly oppressed by the universe, or is it just the way things are. For some reason men who want to be/think they are women never ever choose door number two.

I have a rule that I only think about Plato on Tuesdays, whilst I am receiving a foot massage from my charming cat-robot Zaza, whilst Bill Gates is handing over his billion, bill by bill. Anything else is against my religion. :-).

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“Ye miserable, crawling worms, are ye here again, then? Have ye come like Nimshi, son Rehoboam, secretly out of yer doomed houses to hear what’s comin’ to ye? Have ye come, old and young, sick and well, matrons and virgins (if there is any virgins among ye, which is not likely, the world bein’ in the wicked state it is), old men and young lads, to hear me tellin’ o’ the great crimson lickin’ flames o’ hell fire?
Aye, ye’ve come,
Dozens of ye. Hundreds of ye. Like rats to a granary. Like field-mice when there’s harvest home. And what good will it do ye?
Ye’re all damned!
Damned!
Oh, do ye ever stop to think what that word means when ye use it every day, so lightly, o’ yer wicked lives? No. Ye doan’t. Ye never stop to think what anything means, do ye? Well, I’ll tell ye. It means endless horrifyin’ torment, with yer poor sinful bodies stretched out on hot gridirons in the nethermost fiery pit of hell, and demons mockin’ ye while they waves cooling jellies in front of ye, and binds ye down tighter on yer dreadful bed. Aye, an’ the air’ll be full of the stench of burnt flesh and the screams of your nearest and dearest...
Ye know, doan't ye, what it feels like when ye burn yer hand in takin’ a cake out of the oven or wi’ a match when ye’re lightin’ one of they godless cigarettes? Aye. It stings wi’ a fearful pain, doan’t it? And ye run away to clap a bit o’ butter on it to take the pain away. Ah, but’"
(an impressive pause)
"there’ll be no butter in hell! Yer whoal body will be burnin’ and stingin’ wi’ that unbearable pain, and yer blackened tongues will be stickin’ out of yer mouth, and yer cracked lips will try to scream out for a drop of water, but no sound woan’t come because yer throat is drier nor the sandy desert and yer eyes will be beatin’ like great red-hot balls against yer shrivelled eyelids....” ---Amos Starkadder, Cold Comfort Farm.

"Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself."--- Jorge Luis Borges, (autobiographical essay, 1970).